


(You and I) We'll Fly Home

by collective (2005)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Drug Addiction, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6042487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2005/pseuds/collective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He may not be Sid Vicious, but Clifford has always been the black sheep of 5SOS since the early days… Clifford said he suffers from issues of "self-esteem, loneliness, and depression" and has been taking too many sleeping pills at night.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	(You and I) We'll Fly Home

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS KIND OF IMPORTANT TO READ OR ELSE YOU MIGHT BE CONFUSED! Okay, so, I got the idea for this because of the part of 5SOS's Rolling Stone interview where they talked about [Michael's mini "breaking point" and how he said he's been taking too many sleeping pills at night](https://41.media.tumblr.com/5ec5cd2935898befe219584b60d55787/tumblr_nzyaw9ThhO1uf5v3qo1_500.jpg). It reminded me of MCR and [Gerard's breakdown...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FaRvZ3ENW8) this is what you get. So, yeah. This is a fusion of eras and bands- 2015 5SOS mixed with 2004 MCR, because 5SOS just landed in Tokyo and Tokyo '04 is also known as Gerard's big freakout.
> 
> I guess you could call this Michael looking into what could possibly be his future? The addiction aspect of it all, if allegations are true.
> 
> Title is taken from Headfirst for Halos by My Chemical Romance.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

They’ve barely set foot in Tokyo, barely gotten past the initial mob of teenage fangirls and their annoyed fathers, when Michael sees him. He doesn’t think anything of who he is, or generally about how Gerard Way from 2004 managed to cross universes into 2015 because that should be, like, impossible. He doesn’t go up and ask for a picture or an autograph. He just watches.

Gerard’s still in his makeup. It looks somewhat baked into his skin, with small rivulets of sweat managing to streak through the thick mask of white, revealing a bright red flush. His eyeshadow also runs down his cheeks in lines of pink, eyes glassy and bloodshot. He’s still in his stage get-up, too, with the velvet suit and striped tie from Hot Topic’s bargain bin. It’s wrinkled and stained with sweat and vomit. Michael can hear Gerard’s labored breathing from where he’s standing.

“Dude, hurry up,” Luke says, glancing back at Michael before scurrying forward to catch up with Calum and Ashton.

Michael can’t. He’s walking in slow motion. It’s kind of like watching a car crash, he thinks. A weird, morbid curiosity while he watches Gerard gag and sweat and wheeze and cry. A small guy with sick sideburns and a Rancid shirt on has a steady hand on the back of Gerard’s neck. He must be My Chem’s manager. He looks like he’s somewhat seasoned in the art of leading addict rockstars to rehab or AA or whatever, something in his stern expression and intense eyes that makes Michael wonder if he’s done this before.

The manager sighs, and murmurs something to Gerard. Gerard nods before opening his mouth, coughing, pausing, and then finally speaking.

“Tell Mikey I’m okay,” he says, voice cracking. It’s way more than the classic smoker’s rasp, though, something painful and croaky. “‘M gonna puke, fuck.”

The manager says something else to Gerard. Gerard coughs again, shoulders shaking. He sounds like he’s about to hock up a lung or something. It makes Michael wince. He thinks he’s been there on one of his more hungover days, but then again, he probably hasn’t.

They seem to be appropriately going in the direction of the bathrooms. Somewhere along the walk, Gerard turns. He makes eye contact with Michael. Michael thinks he looks way worse at this angle, at least worse than he did when Michael initially saw him, even if it was only a minute or two ago. His skin seems to be pulled tight over his face, cheekbones prominent and lips cracked. The real kicker is how broken he looks, like there’s no fight left in him. He’s so obviously _done_. Michael thinks he’s been there once or twice. Then again, like before, he probably hasn’t.

Gerard shakes his head then, looking directly at Michael. His greasy hair falls over his face, black and harsh against how pale he is.

Michael’s not religious, but he thinks it’s fate or something. A message at least. He can’t end up like that, he won’t end up like that. It’s somewhat of a wakeup call.

The sleeping pills in his pocket feel as though they’re burning, digging into his thigh. He won’t, he thinks. He never will.


End file.
